


can i be him

by txmaki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A little angst, B), F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Sweet, and then our Soft Boy Connor steps in 2 save the day, but it's headin there, i! really! love! this!, not exactly, really sweet, so please love it too!, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txmaki/pseuds/txmaki
Summary: in which Y/N sings at Jimmy's Bar, and Connor can't help but feel something because of it.





	can i be him

**Author's Note:**

> based off of the song of the same name by james arthur. also i switch from 3rd to 2nd person sometime near the beginning don't hate me -

Jimmy’s Bar has become a too-familiar place to Connor.

He’d been more times than he would have liked in the past few months. Hank was stubborn - even more so when he was drinking - and more often than not, Connor would find him sitting at the bar, three-quarters into a bottle of Jack Daniels. Tonight was no different.

“Lieutenant,” Connor says as he approaches Hank. “I just received a new report. It’s best we leave soon.”

Hank grunts unhappily, taking another swig of his drink. “Wait a minute,” he slurs, barely articulate. “Wanna see it.”

Connor is about to ask what, but then the lights of the bar dim down more than they already were and a woman steps into view. She walks lightly, like she’s floating, almost, fingers grasping the neck of a guitar gingerly. Her lips are pulled into a humble smile, eyes bright as she looks across the small gathering of people. Connor’s intrigued, to say the least, and while he knows he can easily scan her to see who exactly she is, he doesn’t.

She loops the strap attached to the guitar around her neck and her fingers find their places on the fretboard with practiced skill and pure muscle memory. She takes a slow breath, nothing more than a slight inhale, and then her fingers are playing a beautiful tune and her voice chimes in as a melancholy melody and she is sealing everything together in a flawless song.

She’s singing about love, whatever the feeling might actually be, and while Connor doesn’t really listen to music, he almost doesn’t hear it, he’s hearing this. He’s listening. He blinks a few times because it feels like she’s singing directly to him, like a type of private show, although he knows that it can’t be, because she isn’t even looking at him.

Connor is awestruck.

Only when the night is over and Connor’s walking in the rain after having dropped Hank off at his home a few days later, fingers playing with a coin does he realize that the tune he’s humming is the one she’d sang.

-

A week passes, and again Connor is at Jimmy’s, where Hank will undoubtedly be. The android is standing in the doorway, eyes scanning the room to find his partner. Hank’s a little farther down the bar than usual, and there’s no drink in his hand - at least, not yet. Connor moves to get to Hank but then he stops, quite abruptly, because Hank is talking to the woman from a few nights ago. The one that performed.

Connor hesitates, for a reason he doesn’t know yet, and then makes his way over to the two, keeping his sentences short because he can’t help but feel a sense of urgency even though there isn’t really a need.

“Lieutenant, I was informed of a new report on the other side of town. We should leave now.”

The woman looks between Hank and Connor - and when her eyes meet his he feels like a shock of electricity is travelling through him - with slightly furrowed brows and a growing smile. She folds her arms across her chest, looking at Hank with a raised eyebrow.

“‘Lieutenant’, huh?” You say, and nod to Connor. “Who’s this?”

Hank grunts, looking back at Connor for a moment. “This… is Connor. I’m working with him on a few cases. He’s fuckin’ annoying.”

“Oh, come on, at least he’s nice to look at, right?”

Connor spots a warning of a software instability in the corner of his eye.

You turn your body fully to Connor, holding out a hand to shake. “Hi, Connor -” and oh, does he like the sound of you saying his name, “- I’m Y/N. I play here a few times a week. Nice to meet you.”

His fingertips graze yours in a simple handshake, but there goes that feeling of electricity again. He sees Hank snicker out of the corner of his eye but can’t bring himself to truly care about it.

-

Connor didn’t feel pain. He didn’t have the nerves to do so. It was quite useful in times of combat or entering into possibly-dangerous locations - he couldn’t feel pain, so it never slowed him down if he got shot or stabbed. Pain was almost non-existent in Connor’s world, and that’s simply how it is.

You had offered to help Hank home. Connor insisted he’d be fine on his own, and you didn’t doubt that, but what’s a few more extra hands? So you’d packed both of them in your car and driven off to Hank’s place, finding the address Connor had given you easily.

Sumo barks lowly as you walk inside, and you all but almost drop a semi-unconscious Hank to pet the dog. Connor wants to be annoyed, he wants so badly to not care, but you grin so wide when Sumo leans into your gentle touch that Connor can’t help but smile softly at the sight. The dog licks your palm once, twice, before laying back down where he was before. You pat his head as Connor comes out of Hank’s bedroom, loud snores heard from within.

You look around you, squinting as your eyes scan the mess of the house. Connor realizes as soon as you do that the house is in no good shape, and by the time you see the glass on the floor of the kitchen and the broken window above it, you must decide something.

“Well, Connor,” a _zing_! of electricity travels through him again as you say his name, “Why don’t we clean up just a little bit? Make it more of a home than a house.”

Connor doesn’t understand what you mean by that - a home and a house are the same. Though, you seem content with making it a “home” (albeit it already being one) that Connor doesn’t say anything and instead takes empty bottles from around the house and throws them in the trash.

You start humming at some point, and Connor has to stop for a moment to listen to you. The sound of your voice against the soft rain outside is a mix not short of pleasant, and when Connor sees you smile gingerly at something - a magazine, maybe - he hears it in your voice as well. It’s beautiful.

It takes barely half an hour for you and Connor to clean up most of the house - even with just the empty bottles and other trash gone, it looks nice. You take a seat on the sofa and Connor follows suit, sitting next to you. Sumo must decide he wants to as well, because then he hops on the couch and lays across both Connor’s lap and yours.

A smile blossoms on your face, soft and kind. You pet Sumo and he thanks you in the form of licks to your palm. Connor smiles, just barely, an up-turn of the corner of his lips. There’s silence between the two of you, only the the rain and distant thunder to listen to.

“Hey, Connor,” You murmur, looking away from Sumo for a moment.

“Yes, Y/N?”

You look up at him, eyebrows furrowed just the slightest. “Would you say… that we’re close? Like friends?”

Connor pauses, because he hasn’t really thought about that before. He wasn’t necessarily designed to form relationships, but perhaps the two of you were friends. He wouldn’t admit it - at least, not out loud - but he liked the idea of that. Even more so the idea of being closer than simple friends; but what was that?

“Yes,” Connor finally says, eyes meeting yours. “I’d say so.”

Between the old smell of coffee and the pitter-patter of the rain outside, you smile again, and tell him that that’s good, because you met someone a while ago and didn’t have anyone to tell. You met a guy.

A guy you quite like.

A guy you think you might love.

Connor doesn’t feel pain. He doesn’t have the nerves to do so. But as you’re talking about this man, how wonderful he makes you feel and how amazing he is, there’s a weight in Connor’s chest, and all he can think about how that man you’re speaking of isn’t him.

And _oh_ , how it hurts.

Software instability flashes in the corner of his eye.

-

Jimmy’s Bar is still too-familiar to Connor, but the smell of old wood and beer is almost welcoming, now, knowing that he’s here to see you. Hank got to have his drink, Connor got to see you - he didn’t like admitting it, he didn’t even want to admit it, because if he did, well, that could mean that he’s…

You appear in Connor’s view, then, a smile growing on your lips when you see him and Hank. You wave, and both of the men do so in return. You seem as if you’re coming to talk to them, but then you stop, and you’re pulled back by something - someone.

The look on your face, for barely a second, is pure fear, and Connor has never been so on edge. Not even for a case.

The man you told him about is the one pulling you back, his hand tight on your arm and causing pain by the expression on your face. He says something to you, and you look like you might say something back, but you shrivel back when the grip on your arm is tightened, then released. Connor starts walking towards you, but Hank’s voice holds him back.

“Don’t,” Hank says. “It’ll ruin the night. Just wait.”

“Lieutenant, this could be a sign of -”

“I know. If it is, Y/N’ll come to us. She’s a smart woman.”

Connor breathes out a sigh, sparing you one last glance before sitting down next to Hank and waiting for you to start.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened - far from it. In the few weeks it had been since you had first told Connor about the man you were seeing - to which he didn’t care to ask the name of - there had been plenty of times something occurred with you and him, something bad. It irked Connor, to say the least, it almost angered him. Every time Connor had tried to talk to you before or after a show, or even if he saw you out, your boyfriend - the word left a bitter taste in his mouth - wouldn’t even spare a word. A harsh glare and a too-rough pull on your arm and you were being dragged away.

Connor tells himself that he’ll speak to you about it, because he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

Another thought crosses his mind, then - since when did he _want_ things?

-

The snow falls delicately to the ground, no wind or harsh cold to blow it away. It’s serene, calming - comforting, even. Connor’s closed hand hovers above your door for a moment, hesitant, before he knocks three times.

You open the door, hands mostly-covered by a sweater, eyes alight when you see it’s him standing at your doorstep. Your face flashes confused for a split-second before melting into a smile, and Connor wants to tell you how beautiful you look. He doesn’t.

“Connor,” you say, looking around. “Hank’s not with you? Did you come by yourself?”

“Yes,” he says in return, offering that barely-there smile. “I wanted to speak to you about something.”

You invite him in quickly, brushing some snow off of his shoulders as he enters. The smell of hot chocolate wafts through the air and you return to your kitchen counter, taking a sip out of a mug that surely contains the drink. Connor stays by the door.

“So, what brings you here so late? Get lost?” You tease, pulling your sleeves over your hands more. Connor shakes his head in response.

“No. I…” he pauses, and that surprises him. He’s never really had to think over something before he said it, not like this. Maybe it’s different because this time it’s you, with your kind words and beautiful voice. A software instability appears in the corner of his vision, and all he can think is that he _knows_ , yes.

“I don’t think the man you’re with… I don’t think he realizes that he needs to treasure you. Properly.”

You freeze, mug halfway to your lips, eyes immediately going to Connor. He hopes you aren’t angry - you don’t seem to be, but emotions are tricky - and waits for your answer. It comes from you in a quiet voice; not shy, but unsure.

“What do you mean, Connor?”

He breathes in slow because he still isn’t used to how you say his name, how good it sounds to him. “To be precise, Y/N, you are…. sunlight. It is impossible to be so, yet you are. You are sweet honey in bitter tea, you are everything warm in the world. You are worth remembering, worth being cherished… and that man, he does not treat you as such. He treats you like you are ordinary when, in fact, you are extraordinary. He treats you as if you are an object, a toy to play with.”

He’s closer to you, now, at the counter with you. You seem conflicted, almost nervous, but if you are, you don’t say anything, so Connor continues. He can smell, barely, your shampoo. It takes him a moment to focus again.

“Ever since I first saw you, I have been… wanting things.”

You speak, then, and Connor realizes that your hand is almost touching yours. It sends him into another world, having you close like this. _Software instability._

“Wanting things,” you repeat slowly.

“Yes.”

“What things?”

Your eyes are burning bright, and your fingertips touch Connor’s. His free hand comes to rest at your jaw, thumb rubbing along your cheekbone. You lean into the touch, and Connor feels like he’s on fire. _Software instability._

“Wanting to be here for you.” His thumb moves down, tracing your bottom lip. “Wanting to…”

He barely gets out “kiss you” before you’re leaning forward, placing your lips on his in a kiss that’s barely there, hesitant, but then both of you are melting into it and Connor feels a warmth spread throughout his chest that can only be you; because you are sunshine, you are everything warm, you are fireworks booming in the night sky. Connor can feel it in his bones. _Software instability._

You pull away with a breath being held for too long, leaning your forehead against Connor’s. He murmurs and you pull him closer because he’s never sounded so vulnerable.

“I want to be the man you always write about in all of your songs. The hero you sing about, coming to save you. May I be him?”

All you do is whisper a yes, because for a while, he has been.


End file.
